


Finally Resting

by TheGrammarHawk



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Blood, Character Death, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route Spoilers, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hemophobia, Hurt No Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 08:16:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20579360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGrammarHawk/pseuds/TheGrammarHawk
Summary: When a friend falls in battle, Linhardt tries his best to save her, what sides they're on be damned.Can be read as Caspar/Linhardt, Claude/Hilda, but written as friendship.





	Finally Resting

**Author's Note:**

> Written when a friend considered the implications of Linhardt trying to save Hilda in BE Chapter Mission: Capturing Derdriu. It is optional to fight Hilda on this map, and we both love to suffer.

_ “Hilda! Why didn’t you retreat?! I counted on you retreating...” _

Derdriu was in the midst of chaos. No matter where Linhardt looked, blood and soot and ash coated the areas around him, no corner of the city left unturned in the Black Eagle Strike Force’s push to defeat Claude. He and his steed had remained near the end of the army, supporting his friends from behind with his faith magic, but even now he had gotten through the city’s borders and was free to take whatever actions he wished.

Of course, the one action he desired most of all wasn’t going to be granted to him, but that was beside the point. By now Linhardt had grown well aware of the fact that he would not be leaving the battlefield to seek peace and sleep until after the war was won.

Or, until he died, that was. That still wasn’t exactly his goal, however, dying was too much effort.

Even so, the holy knight could not find himself growing used to the constant death surrounding him. It was vile before anything else, and terribly distracting to navigate.

_ Especially _ when it was old comrades that were being struck down, left and right. The second Lysithea had threatened Ferdinand, the professor had cut in and struck the mage down. Even so, she was urged to join their ranks, something Claude had told her to do if she fell. As such, when she was pulled into their ranks and sent back in order to be healed by their own, it hadn’t been terribly jarring.

Hilda had been another matter.

Linhardt could still remember the way she lifted Freikugel, a sharp and dangerous determination in her eyes that she had lacked in their academy phase. Still, even as he stood quite a ways from her, watching the fighting, he could make out her voice as Caspar got too close to her for his own liking.

_ “I’m not going to hold back. I can’t let down my dear old Claude.” _

Her smile was the same, even as she swung her axe. She missed. She _ missed _, and frankly, Linhardt wasn’t so sure whether it was on purpose or an accident. As it was, axe fighters didn’t have a good chance of hitting, and brawlers were able to dodge fairly easily. Perhaps it was a real swing, but only done because she did not believe it would hit…

It changed, though, the closer they got to Claude. Hubert was, as ever, going in for the kill, and Hilda wasted no time in distracting him with an attack from her. This one was clearly far more dangerous, Hilda attempting to eliminate the threat to her best friend’s life, and any provocation was enough for Hubert to retaliate.

The blast of black magic was to be expected. Hilda went down, hard, her armor burning into her flesh, ensuring she would not be getting up to fight again.

Hubert moving to her and stabbing his lance into her stomach was decidedly _ not _ expected. Linhardt had no choice but to watch as Hilda jerked, blood dribbling past her lips as Hubert left her pinned to the ground by his own weapon. No hesitation. Not a single second thought. No _ hey, let’s just stop fighting each other, care to join us? _

Linhardt knew how unlikely such a proposition would have been, anyways: he and Hilda had been rather close friends at Garreg Mach, constantly relaxing together and escaping work; they had each other’s backs when it came to such lazy endeavors. Even so, when they actually spoke as well as lounged, it was more than clear that Hilda was extremely loyal to Claude. He couldn’t find fault in that, it seemed remarkably similar to the relationship he had himself with Caspar: bonds would not so easily break, even in war. If you fought together, so be it, but if you opposed each other, well… there was always the proposition of joining the other side, but…

Hubert hadn’t even given her that chance.

_ “It’s been fun, Claude… Sorry to go so soon…” _

Her words, her likely _ last _words, seared into Linhardt’s mind as though he had been branded by the Goddess. Claude’s yell for her, after, was almost more sickening to endure.

This was one of the many, many reasons Linhardt hated fighting. Hilda might have been their current enemy, but that could always _ change _ in the future; there was no need to _ kill _ her when they could have just incapacitated her or even _ left her alone _!

It was lucky, indeed, that only a minute or so later Claude was defeated, the professor pardoning him from death so long as he no longer fought back. Faintly, another swell of frustration, something akin to _ anger _ , rose up in the heir to house Hevring, _ why did everyone else get to be spared? _

The battle was over, but Linhardt found himself dismounting his horse, heading not toward the waiting camp, to Edelgard’s orders, but to the heap of pink that slowly became a darker and darker red. The blood pooling under her body and from the gut wound kept coming, even with the lance firmly in place, and soon Linhardt found himself so weak in the knees from the sight that he had to sit beside the prone figure.

“Hilda, _ please _ ,” he murmured, not caring if he drew any looks from either army, his hands lighting in a soft golden hue, “it’s not fair to die like this; if I mustn’t rest yet, you can’t _ either _. Don’t go and leave the rest of us behind!”

The way his voice came out so indignant, so upset, it was childish, yet Linhardt couldn’t bring himself to stop.

In fact, he couldn’t quite remember the last time he had tried so _ hard _ at anything. Yet… if Hilda could put in all of her effort to try and keep her friend safe, it was only fair, only _ right _that he do the same.

The golden glow of the magic grew so intense before him that Linhardt didn’t even notice when another gold came up behind it. There was nothing to be said as it was with delicate hands that Claude pulled Hilda’s body up to him, forehead pressed against her own even as her dulled pink eyes did not blink.

His faith magic had done _ nothing _. Fists clenching, he felt all the remaining limited energy surge through him, a desperation unlike he had ever known before coloring his tone.

“_ Damn _ it Hilda, you don’t _ have _to die!”

No more babbling on about the history of the Goneril crest just to get him to talk to her, for once. No more run-ins in the fields by the monastery with her putting flowers in his hair while he slept. No more accessories in the form of eye-masks handmade by her to aid in napping. No more bats of her eyes as she distracted Edelgard and Hubert away from where he dozed.

Linhardt hadn’t really been one for inter-house mingling, back at the academy, but Hilda had been different. Hilda was a friend.

Was.

“Hey, c’mon buddy, Edelgard’s waiting for you- awww, Linhardt, don’t… bro...”

It took a few moments for Linhardt to recognize the large, tough hands on his shoulders, the familiar voice in his ear; Caspar took him by the arm, pulling him to stand. Upright, now, the mage had the chance to focus again, seeing the light fade from his hands to reveal the crimson that stained them and his knees, the world spinning again as he understood what it was.

He could not help but gag, black spots overcoming his vision as the stark reality that he was _ covered _in Hilda’s blood crashed down on him. The world disappeared briefly, and before he knew it Linhardt found himself being picked up by Caspar, who continued forward. As much as he would have loved to argue against being carried like an infant, the dizziness lingered too heavily to get out any coherent refusal of the action.

Only now did he feel the wetness that had fallen upon his cheeks, off his chin, and the unbearable exhaustion that threatened to snuff out his spirit from the excess of magic he had performed; all of it was in vain. The shakiness of his limbs, the lightheadedness and deep, sick feeling that cloaked his whole being, all in vain.

So instead, for this once, he held on to Caspar. After all, he got to leave this battle with his best friend at his side. Claude did not.

Sighing, Linhardt let his head fall to Caspar’s shoulder, voice low and threatening to tremble.

“This war is hardly worth the pain it causes. Is this fighting worth _ anything _?”

Caspar grimaced, keeping his eyes straight ahead, desperate to not give in to the usual melancholy thoughts of his closest friend.

“Yeah, yeah, of… of course it is! We gotta trust Edelgard, y’know? We’re gonna make the world a better place.”

A sigh was given, but there would be no use in arguing the matter further, not with Caspar.

What good was making the world a better place if it meant losing friends for no reason? Anyone could be next. Even _ Caspar _could fall next, and for what?

Linhardt let his eyes fall shut, not willing to put up with the fruitless endeavors of the waking world a moment longer. He was tired. He needed to take a nap…

At least, at the end of it all, he knew one thing:

Claude was safe from the Empire’s harm.

Hilda was finally resting.


End file.
